Make Your Move
by peripheralnoise
Summary: Daxter is a pickpocket in Haven City; this time, he chooses Jak as his target. Will he get away with it? Jaxter yaoi, set during Jak II. Spoilers, future smut, some violence, etc.
1. Chapter 1: Intuition

Daxter leaned against a crumbly gray wall, hands tucked into his pockets; the fingers of his left hand toyed idly with a pocket knife. His flame-like plume of hair was glowing like a torch in the late afternoon sun. He chewed at the inside of his cheek—the only sign of restlessness on his otherwise well-schooled features. Crystal blue eyes scanned the throng of miserable proletariats as they milled about like yakows in a pen.

He sighed, discouraged. The slums certainly weren't the _ideal_ place for pick-pocketing, vacant as they were of promising targets, but he could usually score _something. _Besides, they were a hell of a lot safer than anywhere else in the city—the KG couldn't give less of a shit about the people here, so long as they weren't killing each other. Besides that, Daxter had already snuck into the industrial district this week, and he didn't want to push his luck.

Still, this totally blew. He'd been standing in the same place for near on two hours, and not a single person had caught his eye. Unease stirred at the back of his mind. He couldn't afford another profitless day; he'd finished all the food he had last night. Already, his stomach was drawing in on itself, quietly begging for a scrap; his scrawny legs trembled beneath him. But Daxter always ran on intuition, and his intuition said to wait. Wait, just a little longer. Life will throw you a bone. Of course, it had been saying that since he started prowling the streets at seven in the morning. Stupid intuition.

He was just about ready to give up—he could always pay a visit to the dumpsters, if he had to—when an unusually bright head of hair caught his eye. Fancy that. He'd seen blonde, and he'd seen an earthy sort of green, but he'd never seen a hair color so positively… _chartreuse. _Seriously, the guy looked like a frickin' highlighter. Daxter watched as the mysteriously-colored fellow paced out of a curved alley, hooking a hefty-looking back of _something _into his belt.

Bingo. Target acquired.

Daxter knew a delivery boy when he saw one—usually some young, tough looking guy, too well-dressed to be impoverished (i.e. he had a job), but not well-dressed enough to justify owning whatever was in that bag that looked miraculously like a yakow's ball sack. Oh yes. Daxter _loved _delivery boys. Come to papa.

Honestly, they were good for his conscience. Daxter hated nabbing something, knowing it could be a father's only means of feeding his child. Unfortunately, Daxter had needs too. With delivery boys_, _however, Daxter felt almost zero guilt. He wasn't stealing anything from the target—he was stealing it from _their boss_, who tended to be a rich and portly gentlemen. And sure, he was cocking up the guy's career, but really, what kind of career is that? Running errands for fat assholes all your life? Oh yeah. That'll take you places.

Also, delivery boys tended to be beautifully easy targets. There were two types: 1. those that were so nervous about losing the goods that they forgot to pay attention to them, and (even better) 2. those that were so arrogant, they assumed they were untouchable. Meanwhile, all Daxter had to do was trail, approach, lift, and disappear before they noticed—like candy from a baby.

Blondie looked to be a number two, which suited Daxter just fine. He let the target pass, counted to seven, and pushed himself off the wall, stumbling slightly as his stiff legs got to working. Time to close the distance, sneaky-like.

Daxter adopted a brisk pace, keeping closer to the wall than his unlucky mark. He kept his eyes trained on that citrine head of hair, noting that it got blonder and blonder as it cascaded down. Could this guy really be from around here? He also had exceptionally long, droopy ears, and his skin was somewhat more bronze than the average citizen of the rainy Haven City. Weird, but whatever.

There were only ten feet between the two of them now, and Daxter was growing in confidence. Then, the blonde turned his head, glaring at an unsuspecting KG as he passed. Daxter felt his heart sink. Peaking out from behind the funny board-thing strapped to Blondie's back, right where the golden curtain of hair usually fell, was a nasty looking gun.

Daxter felt his pace falter.

Guns were very, _very _illegal in Haven City, except for the KG. Therefore, those who owned them were usually very dangerous, i.e. members of the fabled Underground. Not that Daxter didn't support the movement in his own, silent way—anyone who could stick it to the Baron had Daxter's hard-earned respect. Only problem was, it was a total pipe-dream. There was no way in hell these guys would ever be successful, but they would sure as hell take down the city trying. It was safer to stay out of their way, and to offer no aid—getting caught helping them was worse than shooting a baby, as far as punishment was concerned.

What if this guy was making a delivery _for _the Underground? A guy with a cause was a million times more dangerous than a guy with a job.

_Shit._

He nearly gave up right then and there, nervousness leaking into every step he took. But he _needed _to get _something _today, or face the grimy city dump. Could he even find a scrap of food that wasn't rotten? Daxter sighed, face screwing up with indecision…

_Damn it. Shit. Damn it, damn it. Damn it all to hell!_

… And continued after his mark.

After that, he felt even more pressured to finish the job and be done with it. The distance between them closed much more quickly than Daxter normally would have allowed. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

_Relax, Dax. You've done this a million times._

He was careful, now, not to stare at the target. Don't tip him off. Don't trigger that funky sense that people have when somebody's watching them. Do _not _blow your cover.

He was standing right behind the guy, now. They were approaching one of those tight little roads left over from where some idiot had thought it was a good idea to stick a building in the middle of the square. The guy's ear twitched, and Daxter snapped his gaze to some little fruit stand on the side of the road, praying he wouldn't turn around.

_Wham._

Daxter slammed into the back of the suddenly immobile target; rigid gear stabbed into Daxter's chest, and he jerked back as his face pillowed against the soft blonde locks, only to collide with another body behind him.

"Sorry!" he stammered, hurriedly disengaging himself. The man behind him only grumbled, but the target turned halfway around, and their eyes connected. Daxter immediately noticed two things: one, that the mark was completely gorgeous, and two, that he looked pissed as _hell._

"Whoa, hey, I'm sorry," the redhead yelped, rubbing at the base of his throat where the board had jabbed him. "Totally my bad sir, I wasn't watching where I was go"—

"It's fine," cut in a low voice. The target's eyes softened, barely, and he turned away again.

Daxter let out a shaky breath, eyes wide. What the hell had happened? _Way to play it sneaky, idiot, _he grumbled to himself. Then he glanced around, suddenly noticing that he was surrounded by stationary bodies, and all of them were trying to look over each other to see some hoopla ahead. What was going on? He tried to get a look, but even on tippy toes, Daxter still couldn't see past the heads in front of him, adding frustration to his flustered state. He wanted to know what was happening up there, for Precursor's sake!

Daxter glanced at the man in front of him. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was still taller than Daxter… maybe he could see. Would he answer, if Daxter asked him? Or was he still angry? Why did Daxter even _want _to ask this guy? Talking to the target was _never _a good idea! But before he knew it, Daxter was acting on the most horribly stupid impulse he had ever, _ever _had.

He rolled up on his tippy toes, positioning his face next to the mark's ear. In the back of his mind, he noticed that the mark smelled different than the rest of the city. He smelled fresher, somehow, like he hadn't lived in this muck for all that long. Maybe he worked in agriculture? Whatever, it wasn't important. Daxter placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey pal. Can you see what's going on?"

A massive twitch jerked through the target's shoulder, and his head whipped around to look at Daxter. What was that facial expression? A mixture of irritation and confusion? Murder and intrigue?

He seemed to remember himself after a moment, because his eyes snapped forward again and he let out a surprised cough, answering, "The KG are arresting a couple guys. Not sure why." He continued to stare forward, as though they hadn't spoken.

Right. Daxter lifted his hand off the target's shoulder and let himself drop back onto his heels, brow furrowing. Suddenly, it occurred to Daxter that running into the target would have been a _perfect _moment to lift. He looked down at the bounty, and wondered if he shouldn't try to nab it now. But if the guy noticed before the crowd cleared, he'd have Daxter at his finger tips, and the redhead had no doubt that the blonde could pound his scrawny bones into the ground. No, it was better to wait. The mark was too alert right now, anyway. Daxter had drawn _way _too much attention to himself.

They stood there for a minute or two more before the ordeal was over and they were allowed to continue through the street. Daxter kept close, but not too close. Once, the target glanced over his shoulder, and Daxter was sure he saw him. He watched the purse, looking for a sign that said, "I know what you're trying to do"—marks always held onto the bounty if they thought it was in immediate danger. But nope, it hung loose and free. Daxter couldn't help but wonder what the hell was the deal with this guy. Was he clueless? Was he taunting Daxter? _What _was going _on_!

They were almost to the industrial district. Daxter glared at the red-lit streets. He had to make his lift before they went in there, where the KG gave half a shit about the residents. He just needed an opening… Daxter watched as the target's pace faltered for a moment, and the target glanced down at his belt. Then, he tugged out a communicator and held it to his ear. Perfect distraction.

_It's now or never, Daxter. You've got to make your move._

His whole body buzzed nervously. He hadn't been _this _anxious for a lift since he picked Erol, the city's racing champion's pocket. But this was nothing that extreme. He just needed to relax. He kept up his usual pace, coming within a foot of the target. Directly behind him, he smoothly reached around, unhooked the purse without so much as a tug on the belt, and turned on his heel. His heart pounded in his ears as he walked away with a casual stroll, every inch of him screaming to run like hell.

_Don't look back. Don't look back. He'll see you if you look back._

He started counting backwards from ten, forcing himself to breathe at every count. _3… 2… 1… _He closed his eyes, relief seeping through him. If they didn't catch you in the first ten seconds, they never did. The familiar sense of giddiness that always accompanied success made his head feel light and airy, and a grin spread unbidden across his cheeks.

And then, a hand wrapped around his bicep, fingers digging into his skin. His heart slammed into his throat and his feet took off as his fingers plunged into his pocket, whipping out the knife. He was immediately yanked back by the iron grip. He whipped around, flying towards his captor, brandishing his blade. Another hand caught his wrist, stopping the knife inches before it slashed into that face. The target.

"Get the hell off me!" Daxter immediately started to squirm and pull, letting his legs drop out from under him in an attempt to break the target's grip. Strong arms held him up and gave him a violent shake, causing Daxter's vision to roll. He started kicking and biting, and then—

"Hey! Calm down!"

Daxter went rigid, looking up into those hateful blue eyes. Silence stretched between them.

Then: "I'm going to let go of your wrist, and you're gonna put the knife away. Okay?"

Daxter stared blankly. Why was he still alive?

"_Okay?"_

Daxter nodded numbly and, true to his word, the target released his wrist. A flurry of options whizzed through Daxter's head—cut his other hand, cut his face, stab him, _run—_but he felt his thumb sliding the blade back in place and a light thump as the knife landed in his pocket.

"Come on."

Suddenly, Daxter was being dragged through the industrial district, the bounty still in his grip. Everything around him was red, and all sound seemed to be drowned out by the pounding of his heart. _What_ in name of all the Precursor shit Daxter had _ever seen _was going on? _Where _was the target taking him? And _why _was he taking him there?

They came out in an enormous avenue that Daxter had never been through—he didn't have a pass for this part of the city. He could see the port at the other end, the wide expanse of deep blue surrounded by an enormous wall. The target's grip on his arm had loosened a lot since he first took hold, Daxter noticed. He might even be able to escape… But no. He'd only get caught. Daxter was fast, but he was also weak and lightheaded. Not to mention, more than a little curious about where this stranger was taking him.

The turned right at the port, the target grunting, "This way."

They followed the water's edge around a corner. Daxter saw the infamous Hip Hog Heaven Saloon's neon sign beckoning him. They drew closer and closer, approaching its entrance. Daxter glanced up at his companion, but the blonde didn't look back. He ushered Daxter into the building, finally letting go of his arm, and muttering, "Keep quiet."

Daxter looked around. It was smaller than he'd expected. The lighting was dim and theatric; red carpet covered the floor. The target stepped around him and walked towards the bar in the back, beckoning for Daxter to follow, which he did, cautiously.

As they stepped around a small boxing ring in the center of the room, a whirring sound caught Daxter's attention. He glanced up and saw, much to his horror, an _enormously _fat, bald man in a silky green suit flying into the room. Like, literally. He _flew _into the room. He was in some sort of hover chair. Daxter felt the blood drain from his face as the man floated down in front of them, and tendrils of a raspy, gargling voice met his ears.

"Jaaaaaak," the man purred, chuckling to himself. It seemed like a struggle.

The blonde—Jak—inclined his head, folding his arms across his chest. "Krew."

"Nnnnngh… You've got my monthly payment, I prrrrrresume?" He rolled his Rs grotesquely, and his twiggy legs kicked impatiently.

Jak nodded, holding a hand out to Daxter. Daxter handed him the bag, pouting as he did so.

"Mmmm… Give it here. Haven't got all day, eh?" His chubby fingers twitched, and jewels flashed. Jak tossed the bag onto his lap, making the man grunt quietly. There was a standoffish moment of silence, as though each was waiting for the other to turn around first. Then Krew's eyes flicked to Daxter, and his lips parted, revealing largely toothless gums.

"What's this, eh?" He swooped around to the redhead and reached out, tangling sausage fingers in the fiery plume of hair. Daxter ducked, but was unable to escape. "A new"—Krew interrupted himself with a gasp—"_frrrrrriend?_" He laughed at his own joke, sounding strangled and wheezy. "I wonder, boy, if you would like to join my girls, eh? I have them put on a _wild _show three nights a week, and I think you'd make"—gasp—"a brrrrilliant edition."

Daxter gaped at him, cheeks swelling with heat. "Listen, tub o' love. I'm not some piece of"—

Jak stepped between the two of them. "He's not interested."

"Eeuuuuh, yes, well. Doesn't hurt to ask, eh?" He whizzed away, dejected.

"Yeah, buzz off, ya creep." Daxter glared after him, irritated. He let his eyes fall to his blonde companion, and was startled to find that he was already looking at him. A small smirk lightened the dour man's features, making Daxter's heart skip a beat. Wait, what?

"What?"

Jak shook his head, and started towards the door. "Come on," he muttered, though it lacked the same bite as before.

Daxter trotted after him, stepping out onto the street. Jak was scanning the traffic; his eyes zeroed in on a man who was parking his zoomer next to a pink, neon sign.

"Wait here."

Jak jogged over to the zoomer as the man walked away, dropping his keys. It looked intentional to Daxter. Jak picked up the keys, eyes alert, and threw his leg over the zoomer. He drove it over to Daxter and halted next to him.

"Hop on."

Daxter raised his eyebrows and fidgeted nervously. "Why?" He was surprised by how guarded his voice sounded, even to himself. "What if I want to go home?"

Jak shrugged. "I can take you home."

"Okay, but why? What's yer motivation, buddy?"

Jak looked away for a moment, seeming a bit perturbed.

Daxter sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "Boy, you really know how to sweet talk 'em."

"Do you want a ride or not?"

Daxter stared at Jak for a moment, trying to figure out his game.

" Sure, I guess. A ride world be nice."

With that, he threw his leg over the zoomer behind the blonde and wrapped his arms around the torso, causing him to jump and twist in his seat to look at Daxter.

"Jumpy, aren'tcha? I gotta hang on, big guy."

He rolled his eyes. "Where to?"

Daxter shrugged, grinning. Why the hell was he grinning? "I dunno."

One green eyebrow quirked. "I thought you said you wanted to go home."

Daxter lifted a finger. "Ah-ah. I said _what if _I wanted to go home. Big difference, buddy."

Jak snorted, and turned away. He revved the engine, and before Daxter could get a firm grip, he pulled out onto the road. Then, glancing up, he switched zones, causing Daxter's stomach to drop. Jak started weaving through traffic (quite illegally and much too quickly) and pulled out over the water.

Daxter leaned forward, pulling himself close to Jak's ear. "Name's Daxter, by the way!"

He got no response.

000

They whizzed through the square where Daxter had first started following Jak. It was dark, now. Jak changed zones as he pulled into a curling alleyway, and Daxter's felt his butt lift out of the seat and then slam back down-quite painfully, by the way.

"Ow."

"Sorry," Jak mumbled. He parked the car and dismounted, pulling out of the redhead's embrace. He looked around uncertainly as the pale boy crawled off the bike, skinny legs shaking. He still hadn't eaten today, and it was starting to take its toll.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Daxter glanced up to see Jak staring at him intently.

Daxter screwed his mouth up, shrugging. "Kinda? I got a couple places I can crash, but no place that's mine." He leaned on the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets and crossing his legs. "Sorry about earlier, by the way." He stared at his boots.

"Hm?"

Daxter shrugged. "Tryin' ta swindle ya. Just gotta find a way to eat, ya know?"

There was an awkward moment of silence. Then: "You don't work for the Baron, do you?"

The redhead's eyes shot upwards, flashing with anger. "WHAT! No! Would I be pickin' pockets if I did? Sheesh. Don't offend me, buddy."

Jak smirked. "Good." The blonde turned on his heel and walked away.

"Uh…" Daxter looked around, confused, and decided to follow, trotting after his new aquantance. "Why's that good, again?"

Jak didn't answer, simply walking down the alley. He approached a door covered in green graffiti and knocked on it in a specific pattern. It slid open, releasing a pool of light to spill over the cobblestones. Jak smiled at Daxter and nodded towards the door.

The redhead raised his eyebrows. "You do realize I don't have a soundtrack to tell me if this moment is eerie or touching, right?"

Jak rolled his eyes and walked in. It was up to Daxter, whether to follow or walk away. He glanced over his shoulder. He could leave. He didn't _have _to go down there. But Daxter always ran on intuition, and right now, his intuition was telling him that life had finally thrown him a bone.

He followed the blonde into the building, a grin slipping across his face.


	2. Chapter 2: One Little Guy

**Nothing belongs to me and I am making no profit!**

**Also, I am really sorry to everyone that I took so long to update this, and that this chapter is so long. I was really unsatisfied with it for a really long time, and I've been pretty busy with work, but that's no excuse! Anyway, here you are. Again, I'm really sorry. Reviews are appreciated!**

Daxter followed a few feet behind Jak, glancing around nervously. He held his gun at the ready; his fingers tightened around the dark metal, gloves squeaking quietly. They trotted down the tunnel, feet splashing in the shallow puddles that covered the floor. Murky water trickled from grates in the walls, reflecting dimly flickering lights. Every surface was coated in a dank, greenish mixture of mold and rust that looked like some hideous form of herpes waiting to happen. Leave it to Krew, the most repulsive man in Haven City, to send them to the most repulsive _place_ in Haven City: the sewers.

Daxter's ear flicked nervously at a scraping noise from somewhere ahead. Oh Precursors, he hoped that wasn't a metalhead. Jak slowed, and shifted toward the wall, beckoning Daxter to follow. They skirted the edge of the passage, silently inching forward. Jak lifted his hand, signaling Daxter to wait. The redhead halted and crouched low to the ground, heart pounding in his ears.

He officially hated the sewers; he hated Krew, he hated metalheads, he hated everything about this fucking job. Why were they doing it again? Oh yeah, to fulfill the whim of a deranged, floating tycoon whom they were unfortunate enough to work for. And now, Daxter was stuck down here, probably about to get eaten alive by some horrible, blue-skinned monster. Every inch of his body wanted to book it, but he kept still as Jak peaked around the corner. Shadow engulfed the blonde's features; azure eyes flicked about, surveying the scene ahead of him. He started to shake his head, but froze.

"Metalhead," he warned in a hushed voice, looking down to meet Daxter's eyes.

Daxter nodded, gulping down air, trying to calm his nerves.

_Okay, okay. I can do this._

He pushed himself out of the squat and immediately fell towards the wall, catching himself with one hand. His legs were jelly, his arms were shaking. He could barely focus. He closed his eyes and shook his head, groaning in frustration.

_Why the hell did you join the Underground, Dax? What in the hell were you thinking?_

"I can't, Jak," he whimpered, leaning against the wall with a grimace.

"Yes you can," the blonde answered firmly, placing a hand on Daxter's arm. "You did it two days ago at the pumping station, remember? You've got this."

"That was one little guy—"

"And this is one little guy. Come on. You've got to be able to fight, Dax, or Torn won't let you stay."

Daxter groaned again, and let his head fall back against the wall. "Do you know how much I hate that guy? Like, how much I truly _loathe _him? I'd love for that little kid's crocadog to just take a big shit in his bed, and for him to not notice 'til he was sitti"—

"Daxter."

The redhead closed his mouth and met the unyielding eyes of the man who got him in this mess in the first place. Really, this was all Jak's fault. Obviously. Completely. Unquestionably. After all, if it weren't for him and his stupid golden hair, Daxter would have happily continued his life of squalor, free of guns, free of missions, free of sewers and monsters and grouchy commanding officers. Of course, that would also leave him free of a warm bed and hot meals every night—not to mention one of the only real friends he'd ever had.

He wondered if they would even let him go, now that he was in. He knew where their base was; he knew faces, names, resources, statistics. And he knew that Torn didn't like him enough to risk keeping him around, if he became a liability. If it weren't for Jak, Torn would have tossed Daxter's scrawny ass out the door before he'd even walked through it. But no, Jak just _had_ to insist that they take him in. Jak _had_ to promise that Daxter would be useful. Jak _had_ to go and say that he would take responsibility for anything Daxter did if they would please, please, _please_ just let him stay.

Yep. This was definitely all Jak's fault. Here he was, about to die, all because this one stupid guy had to be so goddamned endearing. If it had been anyone else, Daxter would've told them to take a hike, but Jak just _had _to be Jak. It was his stupid smiles—the honest, innocent ones that were so few and far-between, that only Daxter seemed to be able to provoke. It was the way of he looked out for Daxter like he actually cared. It was his soulful blue eyes, and that weird, fresh smell that followed him around; his golden-brown skin that looked like a perfectly baked pie; his silky-as-fuck-looking hair that Daxter just wanted to curl up and go to sleep in, like some fuzzy orange rodent. It was his low, almost-strained-sounding voice that completely demanded Daxter's attention...

"Dax?"

He swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly very dry mouth, and shifted under that scrutinizing gaze, feeling his cheeks heat slightly. His ears slanted into a pathetic, hopefully pity-evoking position.

"Yeah?" He sounded almost as miserable as he felt.

Jak raised an eyebrow, but his eyes softened, and a small smile that made Daxter's knees want to melt glanced across his lips. "I'll be right behind you the whole time," he chided. "I promise I won't let it hurt you, but you have to at least _try._"

Daxter grimaced at the blonde for a moment, face screwing up with skepticism. _Why _did he have to act like everything was going to be fine when it clearly wasn't? And _why _did Daxter desperately want to believe him?

Finally, the redhead nodded, releasing a melodramatic sigh, and pushed himself off the wall.

"Ya better say somethin' nice at my funeral," he muttered. With a deep breath, he readied his gun, and tiptoed around the corner. He could feel Jak's presence immediately behind him. His eyes scanned the room, struggling to see the dark carapace with only the light from the tunnels. He almost thought that it had left, but no—there it was, in the far corner: a metalhead more than twice his size, golden eyes dimly glowing, navy skin rippling with muscle. It held a gunstaff that must've been a whole head taller than either of them. Daxter's throat tightened, and he glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes pleaded with Jak's. _I thought ya said it was little, _he desperately wanted to say, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

Jak rolled his eyes and nodded toward the monster. Daxter looked forward again, gingerly moving a foot, watching the beast carefully. Suddenly, it lifted its head and sniffed the air, hands tightening around its weapon. Daxter froze, unable to breathe, unable to think anything except, _I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die_. It stood still for another moment, muzzle twitching… and went back to its patrol.

Daxter very carefully released the breath he was holding. He stared at the beast, eyes the size of dinner plates, blood pumping in his ears. He tried to move towards it, but his legs wouldn't obey. Could he shoot it from here? His gun was short range—a blaster mod, like Jak's, so probably not. How could he get close enough without it noticing and shooting at him first? Metalheads had good hearing but bad eyesight, so if he was quiet enough—

He yelped and stumbled forward as Jak prodded him between the shoulder blades with the butt of his gun. The monster's head snapped around, zeroing in on the two of them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Daxter heard Jak utter a quiet, "shit." Before they could stop it, the creature opened its mouth and released a massive roar. Distant replies came echoing through the tunnels, and then thundering footsteps approached from a distance.

The monster turned to face Daxter and leveled its staff at him; the glowing red tip transfixed him. He watched, dumbstruck, unable to react. Behind him, Jak was shouting something.

A force slammed into him, but not from the direction he expected. Suddenly, he was on his stomach, face pressed against the filthy sewer floor, knees and elbows smarting, breath squeezed out of him. Red light flashed over his head.

"DAXTER, YOU HAVE TO MOVE!"

He tried to suck in a breath, tried to make his seized-up body do _anything. _The weight lifted off of him, and oxygen came rushing in. Gunshots, snarling grunts, and stomping feet filled his ears; finally, something clicked. He leapt to his feet with a surge of energy, and immediately started firing at anything that wasn't Jak-shaped. He pulled the trigger over and over again, but they weren't falling—he still heard the monsters' roaring, still saw their dark silhouettes charging him. He reloaded, silently thanking the precursors that Jak had taught him how, and lifted his gun just as a dark mass was about to overwhelm him. He pulled the trigger. Hot liquid splattered across his face, and the thing collapsed in front of him. He grinned and turned to where Jak was fighting. His mouth opened, about to call out his victory, when something smashed into his side, twisting his ankle and knocking him off his feet. His gun flew out of his hands; he let out a strangled cry as his head knocked against the floor and his shoulder was crushed beneath them. He rolled onto his back, gasping in agony, vision bursting in spots of black and white.

The weight righted itself, settling on his thighs, immobilizing him. It towered over Daxter, dimly glowing eyes filling his vision. Its black lips curled, revealing razor sharp teeth that dripped with saliva, protruding from swollen, blue-grey gums. It rumbled with a hideous, throaty mixture of a chuckle and a snarl. Daxter's stomach twisted as claws wrapped around his throat, and he knew he was about to die. Without thinking, his hand plunged into his pocket, and his fingers closed around a familiar metal object. The knife snapped open as Daxter drove it through the air, and it halted with a sickening thud. The monster's chortle became a gargle; it slumped forward, head flopping onto Daxter's his chest.

Then, silence.

Hot liquid dripped down his temple; more trickled over his hand, onto his chest, and soaked through his shirt. He was completely rigid, holding his breath. His arm shook; his knuckles were white from the vice-like grip with which he held the knife, plunged up to the handle in the metalhead's skull. Its claws rested slack around his neck, two shallow cuts stinging where it had just begun to squeeze—where it had intended to kill.

"Holy shit," he wheezed, voice trembling. He was alive. Somehow, he was alive.

"Dax!" Jak's voice called from across the room, laced with panic. Footsteps rushed over to where the smaller boy was effectively pinned. A sigh of relief burst from Jak's lips as he came into view; he dropped to his knees beside Daxter's head, one hand immediately slipping into the plume of red and orange hair—a strange gesture of affection that made Daxter's stomach squirm for a moment.

He craned his neck to look up at his friend. Jak stared at him, eyes miserably apologetic, ears drooping. He certainly knew how to look like a kicked crocapuppy when he wanted to.

"I'm so sorry, Dax," he said. An unspoken but acknowledged accusation hung between them: _You promised ya wouldn't let 'em hurt me. _So why couldn't Daxter find it in himself to be angry? He was tired, more than anything, and wanted to put this whole day behind them.

"I know," the redhead finally answered, voice strained. "It's alright, buddy." He offered a frail grin that was probably more of a grimace—alive, it conveyed, but in pain. They sat there for a few silent moments, Daxter struggling to breathe and too exhausted to speak anymore. He frowned at the creature settled on top of him. He was _really _starting to hurt, now, and this asshole wasn't helping. He finally pried his fingers off the knife that was lodged in the monster's head, and began the dreaded process of trying to push the creature off using only the arm that _didn't_ feel like it had been hit by a KG Cruiser on a high-speed chase. He released a frustrated wheeze of breath, unable to shift from underneath the monster—it was too heavy. "Hey Jak?" he gasped.

"Hm?"

"Ya wanna help me out here?"

"Oh—yeah—sorry," Jak babbled, launching to his feet and moving to the monster's side. He pressed his shoulder against it and pushed as hard as he could, slowly rolling it onto its back and off of Daxter, who immediately sucked in a huge lungful of air.

"Thanks, big guy," he sighed, but he didn't try to get up. He didn't think he was quite ready for that disaster. The floor was cold, hard, and unpleasantly damp, but at least no one could knock him off it. Oh yes. This was the definitely better than standing.

Jak stood over him, forehead creasing with concern. "You okay?"

"Well let's see," Daxter mused bitterly. "I'm pretty sure the whole front of my body's gonna be bruised from when ya knocked me on my face, not that I don't appreciate it. Both of my arms are bashed all to hell from bein' slammed into and landed on, and I feel like my ribs got sat on by three hundred pounds of metalhead. I'm cold, I'm wet, and I'm covered in blood that I think is starting to _burn _me. My head's killin' me. One of my legs feels all funny an' twisted up, an' my shoulder"—Daxter felt his throat close at this. He swallowed the lump and forced himself to continue casually, in spite of the burning that was starting to well under his eyes and the hoarseness that his voice had adopted. "I think my shoulder is ruined, an' that means I can't fight, an' that means the tattooed asshole's gonna turn me out, an' I'll have ta beg for scraps on the street fer the rest of my sorry life, which probably won't be that long"—his voice caught. He glared at the ceiling, eyes burning. Finally, he managed to croak out, "So no, I'm not really doin' that great. But thanks fer askin'."

Jak lowered himself to the floor again and sat cross-legged beside Daxter, hand returning to wild orange hair. The pickpocket closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to come to terms with the situation. He could whine like a champion when the hurt was fresh, but he wasn't the type to give up just because everything seemed completely fucking hopeless—perish the thought. He could do this. If he'd made it by before, he could make it by now.

"Maybe Krew'll still take me fer his shows," he said glumly, opening his eyes. Jak snorted, and Daxter looked up at him, raising his eyebrows. "What? There's gotta be _someone_ out there who likes a scrawny, crippled redhead, ya know?" He watched as Jak looked away, a smirk sliding across his features. Daxter grinned. "You'll come see me, won'tcha Jak? Just to make sure they treat me right, 'n' all that."

Jak shook his head, and Daxter frowned.

"Ah, c'mon. Why not? I'll do my extra special sexy dance for ya," he teased, wiggling his hips a little and instantly regretting it as pain lanced up his side. He whimpered quietly.

Jak rolled his eyes. "You're not going to have to work for Krew," he chided. Daxter looked up at him, a little skeptical, a little hopeful, and altogether curious.

"I'm not?"

"Nope."

"Why's that?"

Jak didn't answer, instead opting to consider the remains of the dead metalheads for a minute. Then he looked back at Daxter.

"Let's get you home. I'll come back and finish up tomorrow."

Daxter frowned. "You sure?"

Jak nodded. "Come on."

000

The two of them slipped into the Underground, damp from the rain, Daxter's good arm slung across Jak's shoulders. The blonde had an arm gently curled around the redhead's ribcage, holding him firmly to his side.

"Almost there," Jak murmured as they descended the stairs and slowly walked through the rows of bunks lining either side of the room.

"What happened?" Torn stared at them from behind his war table, usually apathetic voice sounding alarmed.

"Metalheads," Jak grunted, turning to the bunk that he and Daxter shared.

A beat of silence passed as Torn made up his mind as to whether or not he should help.

"What do you need?"

"Water, a washrag, and some eco," Jak ordered, carefully lowering the redhead to the mattress as Torn turned on his heel. Daxter tried to meet Jak's eyes, frowning in confusion.

"What do we need eco for?"

"We're going to fix you up," Jak answered, quickly removing some of the excess gear that limited his movement. "We need to get you out of these clothes. Can you move your arm enough to get out of your tunic?"

"Uh… Probably," Daxter answered, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. He inwardly cursed at himself for the reaction—after all, Jak didn't seem to think anything of it, and if Jak wasn't going to act weird, then neither was he. It took some work, but they managed to unbutton his burgundy tunic and pull each arm out of it, leaving him in nothing but a sleeveless white undershirt. He awkwardly wiggled one arm under it and tugged it over his head, taking care to move his broken shoulder as little as possible. He shuddered as fabric pulled away from his skin, sticking where the metalhead blood had dried. Cool air drifted over his bare skin, leaving a ripple of goose pebbles.

As Jak kneeled in front of him and began unstrapping his boots, Daxter glanced down at his shoulder; his stomach sank. It was a mess—slightly misshapen, extremely swollen, skin puffy and nearly purple. On his opposite arm, a large grey bruise marked where the beast had made its impact. Yet more bruises spotted his chest, ribs, elbows, and hips, though not all of them were new. A large pool of dried blood was flaking off his chest, leaving a faintly itchy, burning sensation. The skin between his neck and shoulder was slightly raw from being rubbed by the strap of his gun.

"Damn, kid. You look like shit," remarked the grizzly commander, walking towards them with a basin in his hands and a cloth slung over his shoulder. "Remind me to feed you more."

Daxter crossed an arm over his pale chest, scowling. "Yer not exactly a princess yourself," he grumbled. "Ya sure it wouldn't be more convenient ta just let me starve?"

Torn smirked vindictively, setting the basin on the small table wedged between two bunks. "You've got a point," he admitted, dropping the strip of fabric on the bed. "But Jak would never forgive me for letting his favorite runt go hungry."

Jak cleared his throat and frowned, cheeks going a little pink. Torn chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. Daxter grinned, raising an eyebrow, feeling inexplicably pleased. They sat in a mildly uncomfortable silence while Jak finished taking off Daxter's boots and rolled up each pant leg, briefly inspecting the angry scrapes that either knee sported. Eventually he stood, brushing his hands against his pants, and glanced at Torn.

"Eco?"

"Jinx is grabbing it."

Jak nodded and sat down on the bed, picking up the cloth as he did so. He dipped it in water and turned to face Daxter, one hand moving to cup the side of his head, the other lifting the rag to his face and beginning to wipe away the dried splatters of blood. Daxter stared at an old brown stain on the mattress, trying to avoid any awkward eye contact. He grimaced as rough rag rubbed against what felt like raw skin.

"They must have Dark Eco in their blood," Jak murmured, passing his thumb over Daxter's skin. "It left blisters."

"Beautiful," the redhead commented bitterly, earning a snort from Torn. Daxter shot him a glare, and stuck his tongue out for a moment, scrunching up his nose. He looked back at Jak just in time to catch a smile slipping across his features, and grinned.

"Hey goldy-locks! I got yer green shit," Jinx called out in a voce like sour milk. He sauntered into view, waving a small jar through the air, cigar clamped between his teeth. His eyebrows shot into his hairline as he took in the scene before him. He leaned against the bunk and slowly removed his cigar from his mouth, rubbing a hand over graying stubble. "Fuck, ginger. You mighta just set a new record for the saddest sight I ever seen," he said with a grin that didn't look sad at all. "I'm surprised you can hold a gun with those twigs."

Daxter looked up, irritated. "_That's _what ya comment on? Not the fact that my whole body's beaten to a bloody pulp? Ya gotta talk shit on my skinny arms?"

Jinx shrugged. "Eh, I seen guys worse off than you—missin' legs, melted faces… _dead… _But I don't think I ever saw a little street rat like you playin' soldier. How old are you anyway?"

"As if yer the epitome of manliness," Daxter squawked indignantly, ripping his face out of Jak's hands. "Yer barely any taller than me!"

"But I got muscle, and _that's _what makes the girls go wild," Jinx argued with a smarmy grin, lifting one corded arm to kiss his bicep. "That an' scars." He turned to Torn conspiratorially. "Leaves 'em all wet 'n' wanting, know what I'm sayin'?"

Torn grimaced, closing his eyes and raising a hand to silence the other.

Daxter scoffed, dejectedly allowing Jak to resume his doctoring. "Yeah, but yer an ugly son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath.

Jinx smirked at him. "Kiss yer mother with that mouth?"

Daxter glared.

"Course ya do," Jinx reasoned with a grin. "Can't get anyone else ta kiss yer ugly mug, can ya shrimp?"

Daxter snorted. "As if you can?"

"They ain't kissing my mug," he said, winking.

"Enough," Torn barked, eyes widening in horror. "We _do not_ want to know that, Jinx."

Jinx snickered, returning his cigar to his mouth and taking a long puff. He remained silent for a full ten seconds before commenting, "I betcha fifty orbs he's a virgin."

"JINX!" Jak and Torn roared simultaneously, making the slimy bastard burst out laughing. The dishwater blonde took one look at Daxter's suddenly scarlet face and nearly collapsed. "That just proves it," he declared triumphantly between laughs.

Daxter glared daggers at him, feeling the heat bleeding up his ears, down his neck, all the way to his shoulders. He groaned, pulling away from Jak again and burying his face in one hand. Gentle fingers slid through his hair and scratched his scalp reassuringly.

"Jinx, shut up or get out. You're making this impossible," Jak's quiet, deep voice ordered.

"Well aren't _you _feelin"—

"Shut up. Or get out."

Daxter peaked from behind his hand to witness the stare-down of the century occurring between the two of them. Finally, Jinx smirked and raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he conceded, planting his butt on the bunk behind him. "I'll shut up."

Torn sat down beside him, shaking his head and staring at the ceiling as if to say, _Why me?_

Jak turned back to Daxter, removing his hand from the fiery locks. He grabbed Daxter's wrist and pulled his hand away from his face with a gentle smile.

"Really though," Jinx blurted. "How old are ya?"

Jak closed his eyes with a deep breath. "Jinx," he warned.

"Last thing an' then I promise I'll be quiet."

"If he doesn't, I'll drop kick his ass out the door," Torn promised, sounding exhausted.

"I'm eighteen," Daxter informed.

"Bullshit," Jinx instantly countered.

"No bullshit. Now shut the fuck up," Daxter ordered, making a grin split Jak's face.

"Sir, yes sir," Jinx countered with a begrudging smile.

Jak wiped the last of the blood from Daxter's cheek and moved to his chest. Jinx and Torn chatted quietly, not loud enough to be understood by the other two. Jak set the rag down and leaned forward, inspecting Daxter's damaged shoulder carefully. He wrapped his fingers around the redhead's bicep and slowly began extending his arm; almost immediately, Daxter sucked in a ragged breath, teeth clenching and eyes squeezing shut against the pain. Jinx and Torn went silent.

"Tell me when it hurts too much," Jak directed with an apologetic glance. He continued to lift the arm until Daxter was whimpering,

"Okay okay, no more, no more," he keened, following the movement of the arm.

Jak carefully moved it back towards his body, nodding slowly, a look of intense concentration on his face. "I'm pretty sure I can heal it," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

"Ya still haven't explained how, exactly," Daxter pointed out.

Jak held out his hand, and Jinx handed him the little jar of eco. "With this," Jak answered.

Daxter raised his eyebrows. "Ya know that stuff's about as useful as styrofoam bullets, right? I mean, it can't even fix a headache."

Jak shook his head, unscrewing the lid as he did so. "It works," he assured. He shifted onto the bed so that he was sitting cross-legged in front of Daxter, and motioned for him to do the same.

Daxter raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't argue. He felt strangely vulnerable as he watched Jak dip his fingers into the jar, emerging covered in glittery, chartreuse ooze.

"Hold still," Jak commanded, cupping Daxter's jaw with one hand and, before the redhead could properly object, placing slime-covered fingers over the blisters.

Daxter felt the protest die in his throat as the blonde began massaging, and the pain immediately began to ebb away, leaving a pleasant tingly feeling in its wake. Well, that was a nice surprise. He looked up to watch his friend work; his brow was furrowed and his eyes were half-lidded with concentration. A faint green glow illuminated his features. After a minute, Jak sat back with a satisfied nod. Daxter reached up to touch his own face; it was perfectly smooth, not a blister to be found. Jak's hand moved up to rub away the goose-egg on the side of Daxter's head; he briefly passed his fingers over Daxter's throat, closing the two shallow cuts left by the beast in its final moments. They slipped to the side of his neck, brushing away the chafe marks from his gun.

Then he dipped his fingers into the eco again, coating them up to his knuckles this time, and scooted closer to Daxter so that their knees were touching. He moved Daxter's arm so that his hand was resting palm up on Jak's leg. Cupping Daxter's wrist with one hand, Jak let his eco-covered fingers hover over the redhead's shoulder, and then looked at his friend, waiting for permission.

Daxter took a deep breath… _It'll be fine… _ and nodded, closing his eyes. "Go for it."

Jak started rubbing. It hurt, but the cool gel felt kind of nice on his inflamed skin. Alright, so this wasn't so bad. Nothing he couldn't handle. Jinx and Torn watched intently, completely silent. Daxter grimaced as Jak pressed harder and harder, but kept quiet until the blonde squeezed, angling his finger over a jutting bone. A jolt of pain zapped through him; he yelped, jerking away.

"I'm sorry," Jak stammered, withdrawing his hand uncertainly. Daxter opened his eyes to see a miserable expression on the blonde's face. "I have to get the bones positioned right."

Daxter nodded, breathing heavily, shoulder throbbing with pain. "T's okay," he panted. He reached over to Jak's leg with his good arm and fisted a handful of the fabric from his pants. He closed his eyes and nodded, clenching his jaw in preparation. "Just get it over with."

Jak's fingers returned much more hesitantly than before. They rested on his shoulder for a moment, not moving. Then, Daxter felt Jak's other hand shift from his wrist, settling instead in the upturned palm of his hand. Jak was holding his hand. Something squirmed in the pit of Daxter's stomach, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks, knowing there was no way Jinx and Torn hadn't seen the gesture. He curled his fingers upward around Jak's, then took a deep breath, and waited.

Slowly, Jak's fingers started to move over his shoulder, gently massaging, but getting firmer with every second. Daxter held his breath, grinding his teeth as his bones were slowly coaxed back into place. He could feel his blood pulsing, sending aching throbs across his back to complement the stabs of pain running down his arm. He twisted the fabric of Jak's pant leg, squeezing until his knuckles were white.

"Breathe, Dax," Jak soothed, never ceasing his efforts.

The redhead released a rush of breath, and instantly sucked in another. He forced himself to exhale, slowly.

"Breathe," Jak murmured again. His thumb started moving back and forth over Daxter's hand.

The redhead focused on inhaling and exhaling evenly to distract himself from the pain. _In… Out… In… Out… _Finally, after what seemed like hours of agony, the spikes of pain stopped spiking, the dull throbs stopped throbbing, and that tingly feeling started to worm its way into his bones. He felt his body relaxing under Jak's touch. Breathing became easy. Warm, floaty feelings started to replace the aching tension that Daxter had grown so accustomed to. He sighed, breath coming out in a weak hum. He let his eyes drift open, and saw Jak watching him, an amused smile on his lips. He grinned lazily at the blonde, and closed his eyes again. The tingly feeling was spreading, seeping across his chest, making him feel warm and so relaxed that he could barely stay awake.

Eventually, Jak's hand grew still, and his thumb stopped its movement over Daxter's palm.

"Lie back."

Daxter did as he was told, somehow managing to land with his head on the pillow. As soon as he was down, Jak's hand began to roam, rubbing small circles over the little patch of blisters on Daxter's sternum and the little red bruises that spotted his ribs. It was making Daxter feel giddy, like his lungs were full of bubbles of hysteria that he could barely contain. His skin buzzed, hummed, and tingled with soothing sensations, the most powerful of which was a warm, all-encompassing blanket of numbness that muted the world. Wonderful, comforting darkness seemed to be creeping in on the edge of his vision. He watched Jak's face until it too fell away, making way for perfect, blissful silence.

000

Jak slowly pried his hand from Daxter's, careful not to wake the little guy. He watched for a moment as the redhead's pale chest lifted with every breath, casting faint shadows beneath each rib. A light smattering of freckles dusted the boy's cheeks and shoulders. Chapped lips were barely parted, just revealing slightly overlarge front teeth. Behind him, someone cleared their throat, snapping Jak back to his senses. He desperately tried to ignore the two men sitting three feet away from him as he grabbed a blanket and draped it over the redhead's sleeping form. Try as he might, he couldn't convince his face to stop burning.

"I've gotta say, Jak—that was hands-down the most creative way I've ever seen someone cop a feel," Jinx remarked, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "If I'da realized that you swung that way, I'da invited you to come give _me _a fixer-upper months ago."

"Not if your life depended on it," Jak growled.

Torn rolled his eyes and dragged a hand over his tattooed face as he stood. "I really hate you guys," he mumbled as Jinx guffawed, clapping his superior on the back.

"Sure ya do, Commander," Jinx responded with a grin, cigar casually smoldering in the corner of his mouth. "And I'm a sassy twelve year-old with pink ribbons in my hair."

Torn punched his shoulder, _hard,_ eliciting a quiet string of curses. Jak chuckled to himself, glancing at Daxter one last time before moving to the kitchen with the others, where they began the very messy process of preparing dinner.


	3. Chapter 3: No Rest for the Wicked

**To anyone and everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, or enjoyed this story AT ALL... I am so sorry. I am the worst person ever, and I suck at writing, and I haven't been in the mood for this fic, and I got caught up in other fandoms, and I'm just super unhappy with this chapter as a whole, but WHATEVER. I have a million excuses, but I just don't care anymore.**

**I'm sorry if it sucks. I'm sorry if they're out of character, or if there are disturbing amounts of typos, or if the flow is awful, or if it's cheesy, embarrassing, stupid, or any of the other millions of things that I worry are wrong with it. I'm sorry that I suck at updating, and I'm sorry if it takes me another twenty years to chug out another chapter. I'm hoping that's not the case, but you know how it goes...**

******I honestly think I wrote this and trashed it and rewrote it and trashed it, like, fifty times over. Good LORD, it was miserable.**

**Conclusion: everything I do is awful, but I still hope you enjoy this chapter. I can assure you that I really, really didn't.  
**

**Oh, and I wanted to add how fucking grateful I am to those of you who add this to your favorites/follows, and especially to those of you who review. ESPECIALLY TO THOSE WHO REVIEW. Your words turn my heart into a tiny ball of sunshine and sugar. Seriously. You all make me smile in the most wonderful ways, and I love all of your beautiful faces.  
**

**Alright. Now that that's been said... To the chapter!  
**

**...  
**

Daxter woke with his face plastered to the pillow. A dark green blanket was tugged partway down his bony frame, leaving sharp shoulder blades vulnerable to the cool air. One thin leg extended behind him and poked out from under the blanket, while the other was curled near his hip. Spindly arms hugged the pillow beneath his head, holding it tightly against him.

It was extremely comfortable, and Daxter would've loved nothing more than to stay there for a few centuries. There was only one problem—namely, someone's hand jolting his shoulder into consciousness, and dragging the rest of his body with it.

Daxter groaned, grinding his face into the fabric, unknowingly savoring its familiar, plantlike scent; he shifted against the mattress, body tensing to stretch muscles that had remained idle for what felt like several hours. The familiar chuckle of a certain blonde rumbled behind him, and an automatic smile rose to his cheeks.

"Heya," Daxter mumbled with a lazy grin, settling back into the mattress without looking up.

"Hey," Jak answered behind him, a smile in his voice. "Have a nice sleep?"

"Mm," the ginger responded. He probably _should've_ asked what was up—he knew Jak wouldn't have woken him without a good reason. But if Daxter always did what he _should've _done, he wouldn't have joined the Underground, now would he? Exactly.

So Daxter, being the badass rebel that he was, instead made a little performance of going right back to sleep, yawning and curling up in the blanket and, most importantly, blatantly ignoring all of Jak's attempts to rouse him—because where was the fun in being compliant?

Jak tried to coax him back to consciousness for another moment or two before there was a halt, a hesitation, and yep, he was definitely catching on. A snort rumpled the silence, and it was all Daxter could do not to flash a shit-eating grin over his shoulder. He shifted his hips, nuzzling the pillow—an obvious challenge, he thought, that clearly said, _Whatcha gonna do about it?_

"Fine," came the quiet chuckle. "I'll play your game."

And as quickly as it had manifested, Daxter's smugness was swept aside, banished by Jak's suddenly very evil, sleep-thwarting hand. It quickly changed tactics, becoming much more conniving, much more insidious, and much more mischievous, sneaking from Daxter's shoulder to the nape of his neck and spidering down his spine with sinister intent. Finger tips ghosted across the planes of his back, tracing intricate patterns that twisted Daxter's gut and lured shivers from his skin; cruel digits lingered every now and again to prod and tease in sensitive places, making the former pickpocket tense and jerk and shiver in all kinds of horrible ways.

"Daxter," Jak cooed, barely audible and _much_ too close to the redhead's ear, making it flick and twitch; a sharp tremor hurtled down his spine. Jak chuckled, dragging a finger slowly up his vertebrae. "Daaaxter… Come on, now… Wake up…"

Daxter fought back the urge to whimper, knowing full well that it would only encourage the blonde. Not that it really mattered; Jak seemed perfectly content to torture his small friend for as long as was necessary. The blonde blew in his ear and over the back of his neck, fixing every hair on Daxter's body in the upright and locked position; it took all of Daxter's will power not to squirm right out of his skin. Muscles twitched as Jak switched from teasing Daxter's spine to raking his nails over defenseless sides, mercilessly trying to break the smaller boy into a giggle, a yelp, _anything _that would prove that he was a perfectly conscious, rotten little shit.

Daxter, for his part, was struggling to regulate his breath but valiantly holding out when suddenly, a little spike of concern constricted his chest; it occurred to him, with a pang of mortification, that all this excess contact was starting to have certain… _pronounced _effects on his body. Oh precursors. They were on the highway to Bonerville, with no pit stops in sight, and that was a _very _bad thing.

_Shit, _he thought, his entire body seizing up in an attempt to control its automatic responses. This was _not _happening. This was going to stop _right fucking now _because this was _not _what he had intended to happen. Sure, he was asking to get his ass whooped as soon as he instigated this little competition, but humiliation of _that _variety sounded like a little more than he'd bargained for.

It was going to be fine though, because he could handle this. He knew how to play it down, right? Sure, no problem. He would just be a little snot about it, like he always was. It was simple. _Easy, _even. Like candy from a baby.

Except not, because holy _shit _was it starting to feel good.

_Fuckin' precursors. Why the hell do I get myself into this shit?_

He took a deep breath, preparing to act as though he'd only _just _returned to consciousness—_wha? Jak? Is that you?—_when an unexpected squeeze to the flesh just above his hip made Daxter yelp and roll onto his back, kicking his legs and trying to wriggle out of reach.

"ALRIGHT, assho"—

A hand clamped over his mouth as Jak shushed him, barely suppressing his own chuckles; his eyes flicked about, alert and mirthful. Several groans and irritated grumbles drifted though the Underground as rebels turned in their sleep, disturbed by the outburst. Daxter held still, shoulders tense, staring into the darkness; Jak's ears flicked alertly. They anxiously awaited the fierce and groggy scolding of a few dozen tired soldiers.

But the scolding never came. A minute passed, snores resumed, and the two of them breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, tension easing from their bodies.

Jak looked down at Daxter, an impish grin unfurling across his lips; his eyes glinted with the childish thrill of narrowly escaped, but well-deserved punishment. Daxter rolled his eyes at the expression, trying his damnedest to be annoyed.

"That was _your_ fault," he hissed as soon as Jak released his mouth, desperately trying to wrestle down the grin that fought for dominance over his pointed glare.

Jak shrugged, making no effort to look at all shame-faced; he just continued to smile, and Daxter could feel his anger slipping away, damn it all to hell. Jak was a big cheater, using that smile. It reeked of fondness and playfulness and all sorts of other fluffy-feeling-nesses that Daxter wasn't sure if he loved or hated, but he definitely didn't approve of. Jak had no right to smile like that, and Daxter had no business being so affected by it. No sir.

With an irritated growl, he forced his thoughts to safer subjects—for example, what time it might be, and what was for dinner. Just as he was about to ask, his stomach interrupted him, unleashing a ferocious growl.

"I thought you might be hungry," Jak commented in a hushed tone, poking Daxter's torso with a smirk.

Daxter jerked away from him, scowling. "Ya got somethin' for me, or did ya wake me up purely for the entertainment value?"

"Purely for entertainment," Jak answered with a devious smirk. Daxter flipped him off with a little curl of his lip, making the rebel chuckle. "There's soup in the kitchen," he amended.

"That's what I thought," Daxter snipped, sliding off the bed. He tugged the blanket after him and draped it around his shoulders like a cape, sticking his nose up haughtily. Jak smirked as he followed, shaking his head. The two of them prowled silently through the gently-snoring barracks, past a crackling fireplace and a log of an unconscious commander.

The kitchen was a junkyard of dirty dishes and rusty silverware, all illuminated by one dim eco lamp that teetered over the counter. The pot of stew on the stove had literally been licked clean by the ravenous rebels that inhabited the Underground, making it looked like the countertop had been hit by a pack of lurkers.

"Soup?" Daxter asked, glancing hopelessly at the mess. Jak moved to the far corner of the room, reaching over the idle stove and into a cupboard, from which he retrieved a mug and chunk of bread. He handed it to Daxter, who was pleased to discover that it was still warm, and they each took a stool at the counter.

Jak sat quietly while Daxter ate, slurping noisily and munching on the stale bread. The blonde leaned forward on the counter, tracing patterns on its surface with the tip of his finger. Daxter watched as he nursed his meal, transfixed by the motion, thoughts simmering quietly.

"I had this dream that I was some ferrety orange rodent," he announced, staring at Jak's fingers thoughtfully. "And I was ridin' around on yer shoulder while ya fought metalheads. But then we went down to the port and I had ta disarm a bunch of bombs floatin' on the water, but they were Krew's bombs, and he was all mad, and I couldn't swim, so ya put me in yer boot and sent me out in that. And Torn was there. He kept callin' me street rat an' laughing at his own dumb joke."

Jak snorted, drawing Daxter's focus away from his hand. He studied the blonde's profile for nearly a full minute, and then blue eyes flicked to his, accompanied by a little smirk.

"Doing alright?" Jak asked, raising an emerald brow.

Daxter jumped a little; he hadn't realized he was staring. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, I'm great. Haven't felt this good in a… while, actually…" His brow furrowed as he spoke. Suddenly, the events from the night before came rushing back—or stumbling back, rather. It was still all kind of fuzzy.

Still, _whoa. _Daxter's eyes widened as he reached up to touch his shoulder, finding it as flawless as the day he was born. How in the flippin' _hell _had Jak done that? Was that… eco-channeling? Like, mythological eco-sage crap that happened to be _exactly _like the bedtime stories Daxter was raised on? Shit, he hadn't believed in those since he was maybe ten…

Was Jak some sort of fictional character come true? Should Daxter be scared of him?

_No,_ his brain instantly supplied. Jak had never done anything to hurt him. He'd never been anything but a hero to the redhead, and he was _not _about to go and be a jerk to him just because he had some extra funk up his sleeve—even if it was a little freaky.

"Hey, uh… Thanks," he said, awkwardly setting his empty mug to the side with a quiet _thunk, _metal spoon clinking against the inside of the ceramic dish. "Ya know, fer earlier. With the eco, 'n' stuff." He shrugged, swirling his hands descriptively through the air.

Jak's expression faltered as he watched Daxter speak, eyes scanning the nervous body language. His brow twitched, mouth turning down at the corners, and looked back down a little too intentionally. "No problem," he answered flatly.

Daxter watched, confused, as irritation seemed to slip into Jak's demeanor. "Uh… Ya sure?"

Jak glanced up, seeming surprised by the comment. "Huh?"

Daxter gestured at him. "Seems kinda like a problem," he remarked blatantly.

Jak frowned, and stared at the tabletop, eyes hard and bitter. "Is it?" he asked.

"Is what?"

"Is it a problem?"

"Is _what _a problem?" Daxter asked, slipping fast into utter exasperation.

"What I did."

Daxter frowned. "What you…" His eyes widened, and he glanced down at his bare chest, a fountain of heat rushing under his skin. "Did you do something?" he asked nervously.

Jak's brow lowered, his eyes widened, his mouth opened. "I—we… you don't remember?"

"I remember you healing me, but not…" Daxter gulped, floundering for one, two, three seconds. "What did you do!?" he finally spat out, staring at Jak in horror.

"Nothing!" the blonde responded, holding his hands out defensively. "No, I just meant the healing!"

"Well why the hell would that be a problem!?" Daxter asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No—just—if I freaked you out or something, is all I meant," Jak mumbled awkwardly, looking away. "Nevermind. It's fine."

Silence pervaded the room for several heart beats.

"Ya seriously think I'm scared of you because yer some kind of crazy-ass eco wizard guy?"

Jak flinched. "I just thought… you seemed"—

"Like I was nervous 'cause I was tryin' ta be sincere?" Daxter rolled his eyes. "Sheesh, Mr. Touchy. Pardon me fer bein' a little awkward, but I don't got a whole lotta reasons ta thank anybody besides you, so it's kinda new territory." He looked away, brow creased in a frown. "Thanks fer the reaction, though. Way to freak me out an' think somethin' _happened, _an' I don't even get to remember _what. _Don't worry, I won't try_ that_ again."

Jak stared, baffled. He looked down for a moment, frowning, then back up. "So," he mumbled, peering at Daxter intently. "You're not mad at me?"

Daxter scoffed. "Oh no, I'm definitely mad at ya."

Jak rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth tucking back into his cheek. "Okay, but you're not _scared _of me?"

Daxter thought about it for a moment, fingering his chin. He threw Jak a suspicious glare.

"Healing's all ya did, right?"

Jak raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly, a smile creeping across his face.

"No embarrassing naked photos?"

Jak shook his head. "No."

"No writin' on my back?"

"Nope."

"Didn't let Jinx have his way with me?"

"No!" Jak shouted with a wrinkled nose.

"No inappropriate lookin' or touchin' of any kind?"

Jak opened his mouth—and snapped it shut, smirking slightly. He shrugged. "Not much," he teased.

Daxter ignored the snake of excitement that coiled through his belly and the grin that was trying to force his way across his mouth, willing it to fall open in mock horror. "Oh my god."

Jak laughed, reaching a placating hand toward the redhead. "I'm kidding Daxt"—

"Back, fiend!" He snatched a wooden spoon off the table, brandishing it like a sword. The grin pushed its way through, challenging the blonde.

Jak's eyes glinted mischievously, and he lunged at the redhead with a playful growl. Daxter yelped, turning on his heel a second too late. A hand wrapped around his arm and whipped him back; strong arms wrapped around his torso and lifted him off the ground, flipping the redhead's small frame over Jak's shoulder.

"Unhand me!" Daxter squawked dramatically, jabbing the handle of the spoon into Jak's spine.

"Ow!" the blonde barked, nearly dropping Daxter on his head as a kicking foot smacked his face. "Hey!" His grip slipped again as he grabbed for an ankle, and they both went crashing to the floor in a pile of blanket and limbs. "Dax!" Jak sputtered. "Cut it out!"

But Daxter kept jabbing him, squalling with what was fifty percent war-cry and fifty percent overly-enthusiastic-laughter. He was giddy from excitement—how long had it been since he'd gotten the opportunity to just let loose and play? He'd barely had the opportunity as a child, since he'd had so little contact with other kids his age. Daxter had been forced to grow up, _fast_, and that had left him with an unshakable sensation that he'd missed out on something—namely, this.

Jak rolled them so that he loomed over the redhead, pinning him to the floor. The blanket/cape was slipping off his shoulders and leaving his pale chest bare and heaving with giggles, but Daxter couldn't be bothered to care at that moment. Jak snatched the spoon from his hand and held it under his nose, a vengeful snarl twisting his features.

"Quit. Stabbing. Me," he ordered.

Daxter looked up innocently, pursing his lips. "Who, me?" Jak smacked the spoon against the smaller boy's forehead, and Daxter flashed an impertinent grin. "That all ya got?"

The blonde's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth. "You're"—

"_WHAT THE FUCK."_

Both their heads snapped to the doorway where Torn stood, expression livid, auburn dreadlocks disheveled from sleep. Jak scrambled away from Daxter, who sat up with a sheepish grin. They both hurried to their feet, brushing themselves off.

"I cannot believe I have to put up with this shit," their commander snarled, face contorted with rage. "_It is three in the fucking morning. _If you two want to fuck on the kitchen floor, then wait till we can all _watch you, _or _find a different kitchen._" He turned on his heel and stomped away, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

Jak and Daxter glanced at each other, embarrassment coloring each of their cheeks. Daxter's mouth twisted into a grin; Jak pressed a finger to his lips and nodded toward the exit. The redhead nodded, and they snuck through the Underground, grabbing their boots and gear along the way.

000

They stumbled into the crisp night air, tripping over damp cobblestone with bare feet. Daxter dropped his boots and gun and began the process of yanking a bloodstained sleeveless over his ears.

"Holy sheesh it's cold out here," he whined through gritted teeth, grabbing his maroon tunic from where he held it between his knees and plunging an arm through the sleeve.

Jak grinned as he teetered on the ball of his foot, shoving the other into a steel-toed boot. "Better than being murdered by Torn," he said breathlessly, deftly switching feet.

"Not if I get hypothermia an' die," Daxter argued, plopping down on a cotton-clad butt and tugging his boots on. "At least I get to be feel all fuzzy and warm inside if Torn kills me."

Jak snorted as he finished slinging his web of belts and metal over his chest, and quickly propped his goggles on his forehead before tucking his gun and jetboard into their respective holders. He reached a hand out to Daxter, tugging the redhead to his feet. "It's not _that _cold," he chided.

"Says the one with some kinda meat on his bones," Daxter retorted, jabbing a muscular chest.

"Ow," Jak commented, rubbing at the spot, before leaning down and grabbing Daxter's discarded weaponry off the ground. He lifted the gunstrap over Daxter's head, gently placing it around the teen's shoulders.

Daxter smacked at his hands, frowning in embarrassment. "I can do it myself," he grumbled, adjusting the strap aggressively.

Jak took a step back, hands held up in surrender. "Sorry," he responded with a smirk.

Daxter nodded sternly, ginger eyebrows furrowing as he placed goggles over them. "Right," he said. "So. What the hell are we doin'?"

Jak shrugged, a pleasant smile lifting his features as he glanced towards the alley entrance. "Finding a place to crash?" he suggested.

Daxter raised an eyebrow. "Yer tired?"

Jak yawned in response, ears shifting backwards as his mouth stretched and his nose wrinkled. Daxter had to wrestle down a goofy grin, banishing unmanly words like 'adorable' and 'precious' from his mind.

"Yeah," Jak finally answered after expelling the last of the yawn. "I haven't been to bed yet."

Daxter frowned. "Why not?"

"I was guarding your food," Jak answered simply, striding towards the square.

Daxter stared for a moment before scampering after him. "Ya didn't have ta do that," he said sheepishly.

Jak shot him a sideways grin. "Also, you were in my bed."

Daxter scoffed rolling his eyes. "Whatever," he answered. "Yer not getting me on that one. It wouldn't kill ya to be on top for once, ya know."

Jak raised his eyebrows, and heat whipped across Daxter's cheeks before he even registered what he'd said.

"Uh… Of the bunk, I meant… The top of the…" He glared at the grin that was spreading across Jak's face. "Ya know what I meant!" he squawked before casting his eyes to the ground, scowling through his embarrassment. "Sheesh, ya big pervert."

Jak chuckled, watching as the redhead tried to sink into his boots. "At least you're feeling better," he commented, a hint of amusement still tinting his voice.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. By about a hundred million," Daxter answered, reaching up to massage his once-ruined shoulder. "How long was I out?"

"Since around seven," Jak informed. "Five or six hours."

"Yikes," he breathed, cringing a little. "Sorry about that."

Jak shrugged, still smiling peacefully. "It's fine," he answered.

Daxter nodded, feeling the need to fill the silence. "Sooo," he said conversationally, glancing up at the taller man. "What was that all about, with the eco shit 'n all that?"

Jak smirked. "You might need to be a little more specific."

"Well, where'd ya learn ta do it?"

Jak tilted his head back, looking at the sky for a few thoughtful seconds. "There's an old man," he said vaguely. Daxter waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

"A-huh," the thief responded eventually, nodding with raised eyebrows. "What a story."

"Shut up," the blonde responded with a grin, punching Daxter's shoulder playfully.

Daxter grinned for a minute before pressing for more information. "So why'd you get all… _nyeh_ about it?" he asked, making an unpleasant face and gesturing with his fingers to accentuate the negative connotation of his brilliant word choice.

Jak smirked. "Nyeh?"

"Nyeh," Daxter confirmed with a decisive nod.

Jak sighed, smile faltering, gaze slipping to his feet with a small frown. "Some people just don't like it," he answered darkly.

Daxter snorted. "Why? It was frickin' amazing."

The blonde shrugged, kicking at a loose stone in their path. "It can be dangerous."

"Dangerous, like putting doctors out of the job dangerous?" Daxter joked, trying to catch his friend's eye. Why was Jak so beat up about this? So people were jealous, but the big tough rebel didn't listen to them, did he?

"Dax," Jak warned, looking away.

"What?" he snapped defensively, suddenly irritated by the avoidant behavior—he and Jak were closer than this, damn it! "Listen Jak, I don't care what any idiot says"—

"_Dax," _Jak hissed again, hand coming up to wrap around the redhead's bicep as he glared in the same direction as before. "KG."

Daxter's eyes snapped up, taking in three, shiny red mecha-suits. "Oh shit," he winced, and then he was getting tugged after Jak.

The blonde's eyes snapped about frantically, looking for a place to hide before the guards spotted them. He zeroed in on a narrow fissure in the wall, little more than a foot wide and just as shallow, tapering to a mere inch as it reached the ground.

"C'mon," Jak ordered, dragging the smaller man after him.

When Daxter saw their intended destination, a coil of reluctance formed in his stomach. "Jak, I don't think we'll both fit"—

"Shut up," Jak ordered, spinning Daxter around and holding a hand against his yelping, objecting mouth before slamming their chests together and sliding into the crevice.

It was a tight fit, to say the least.

**Oh dear. Proximity, you sly dog.**

**Anyway... Hopefully the next chapter will be more fun, and, with any luck, a lot easier for me to write. I'm not thinking this fic will be very long or serious-just a bit of entertainment for the fandom, if I can provide it-so expect smut in the fairly near future.**

**That is, if I can make myself write the next chapter at all.  
**

**Also, feel free to let me know if you spot any horrible errors in here. Or don't. Who knows if my fragile self-esteem can take it, but I do want to improve, so... It's up to you, whether or not you want to point out the atrocities of my writing.  
**

**In the meantime, let's all cheer for one of my favorite authors, the amazing sillynekorobs. I will look forward to the next Room and Board update for all of eternity, if I have to. If you haven't read it, you should definitely check it out.  
**


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